Caught In Your Eyes
by alicemayisbetter
Summary: Blaine persuades Kurt to enter a songwriting contest. Klaine. Set in S2. Chapter One is the original sad-ending version; the version in Chapter Two ends happily but is otherwise pretty much the same.
1. Sadder Version

**Okay, so this is ever-so-slightly AU in that it's pre-Original Songs and Kurt never confessed in Silly Love Songs; things derail from there in such a manner that the events of Original Songs are still plausible but perhaps unlikely. I actually don't know if it has to be post-Sexy specifically but I don't know what I referenced in there and I'm too tired to go back and check. If this oh-so-vaguely spoils things for you then I'm sorry, but really, what the hell are you doing reading Glee fics if you don't even know what happened in Season Two?**

**Disclaimer: No part of Glee in any way, shape, or form belongs to me. Blaine's song is a snippet of "Don't You" by Darren Criss because why the hell not; the other two singers mentioned sing a line of Justin Bieber's "Pick Me" and the first verse of "Leave" by Katie Todd, which (Leave, that is) is a really excellent song by a fantastic musician and you should all go listen to all her music. Yay! Please don't sue me!**  
><strong>Kurt's song, <em>Caught In Your Eyes<em>, is my own composition; I think I'll let Kurt apologize for it.**

* * *

><p>"You can't be serious, Blaine." Kurt simultaneously rolled his eyes, flipped his hair and drank coffee, causing no fewer than two attractive blazer-clad young men to stare in open astonishment at the range of emotions conveyed within the space of a fraction of a second. And while walking, no less.<p>

"Deadly serious, Kurt." Blaine grinned his "excitable-puppy" grin, which, while distinct from his "dapper!Blaine" grin, was practically indistinguishable from his "Kurt's my best friend and that's pretty excellent" grin, something that both elated and depressed Kurt in equal measure.

"If you think for a _second_ that I am entering this stupid songwriting contest, you are _out_ of your _frickin' mind_, Blaine."

"C'monnn, Kurt! It'll be fun, and you can show off your amazing singing skills to an auditorium full of people! Since when have you turned down a chance to perform! _And_ my Government teacher is one of the judges, so Dalton will give us the day off if we go and compete."

"It's not the singing bit, it's the writing bit. I mean, I can come up with a passable tune in a pinch, but writing? It's your thing, Blaine, you and that notebook you carry around like it's your child. I'm not a poet, not like you."

Blaine smirked. "You're just afraid you'll lose! You can't bear to admit that you might not be the best at something!"

"Um, Blaine? I just _did_ admit it."

"I mean, have judges actually _say_ you're bad. You're just scared!" he taunted.

Kurt sighed. "Okay, first of all, that is the most unsubtle plan ever. Make me get angry and try to prove you wrong? I'm not stupid, Blaine." Seeing Blaine's crestfallen look, he added, "Though I apparently am a sucker for punishment, because yes, I will participate in your songwriting contest."

"Yaay!" Blaine skipped over to Thad, who was walking in the other direction. "He says he'll do it!"

"Oh, is Hummel finally putting out?" he snarked. He glanced at Kurt apologetically. "Sorry, Kurt. Out of line."

Kurt waved his hand dismissively. "It's fine." A casual observer might have thought the apology was solely for the inappropriateness of the suggestion, but of course Thad knew about Kurt's _feelings_. As Kurt was becoming increasingly (and uncomfortably) aware, all the Warblers knew about Kurt's _feelings,_ except, of course, for Blaine; so, for that matter, did that kid from AP Physics, the twins who were always in the library when Kurt was, and (if the seating arrangements were anything to go by) their French teacher—oh, and Jake from Brit Lit…

Actually, if Kurt was being realistic, about half of Dalton and all the female members of New Directions knew about Kurt's stupid, _stupid_ crush. On stupid, stupid Blaine Stupid Anderson. In fact, Kurt decided, that was going to preempt both Everett and Warbler as Blaine's middle name as far as Kurt was concerned…

Okay. Hold up. That little bit of crazy, Kurt could tell, was a warning sign that he needed to do something about this crush. Which brought him back, once more, to this songwriting contest. Because the only way to combat a stupid crush was by doing an equally stupid thing. An equally stupid thing here meaning writing a song to Blaine and performing it for him at this stupid songwriting contest.

Kurt resolved to end this crush one way or another, as it was seriously messing with his vocabulary and if he lost his witty repartee he'd just be a… a music box with excellent hair.

Wait, never mind, that even sounded stupid in his head.

Wait. No.

_Argh!_

* * *

><p>Kurt was sitting at the last empty library table, the wobbly one with <em>nudibranchs are excellent<em> carved into one leg. His mouth tasted like plastic with a hint of ink, his pen was leaking ink when he wrote, and there were crumpled paper scraps in his hair. But he was getting somewhere at last; finally, some of his feelings were turning into words that—

At this point his deliberations were interrupted by the devil himself, Blaine Stupid Anderson. (Really? He was only kidding about the middle name thing.)

"Hey, Kurt! Watcha writing?" Kurt scrambled to cover it up as Blaine calmly read what lines were visible beneath his fingers.

"_Trembling… rose… bed… romance… _ooh,_ serenades_. This is a love song! Who did you write a love song to?"

"No one, actually," Kurt muttered. _Which I suppose is true, since it's not technically a love song_.

"I don't believe you. You like someone! That's great, Kurt!" Blaine was once again in puppy-slash-best-friend mode. Joy of _everlasting_ joys.

"You'll hear the song at the contest, so stop looking!" Kurt finally gave up on hiding the lyrics with his hands and just shoved the whole thing in his bag, standing abruptly.

"I have to go, Blaine."

* * *

><p>The requisite weeks had passed, the appropriate auditorium had been located and the necessary traveling had been done. Now Kurt was sitting in the front row with the rest of the competitors, waiting for his turn. Blaine was first, and excellent.<p>

He played the guitar (another hidden depth, Kurt mused) and sang a really quite good song. He actually looked at Kurt during it, smiling—but only for part of the time, Kurt was sure. He didn't quite remember, as he'd had a hard time watching, though he drank in the sound.

_Say, wasn't that a funny day?_

_Gee, you had a funny way-a way about you._

_A kind of glow of something new._

_Sure-I'll admit that I'm the same._

_Another sucker for a game kids like to play,_

_And the rules they like to use._

_Don't you want the way I feel?_

_Don't you want the way I feel?_

_Don't you want the way I feel for you?_

He was followed by several people, including a really terrible rather androgynous boy with an awful haircut_("You should be pick me, so tell me can you dig it")  
><em>and a woman with an absolutely astonishing voice and a rather nice hat:

_Necessary actions taken only so you'll land on your feet.  
><em>_And consequences with an action, overthrown in this distraction, please.  
><em>_And even when the stars align there's always something caught in your teeth.  
><em>_This and that it's always something with you, I've run out of steam.  
><em>_Leave, I'm ready to leave, I'm sorry but you see, you're making me bleed, I'm ready to leave._

And then, when they were all beginning to blend together (except for Blaine, never Blaine), it was Kurt's turn.

So he got up out of his seat, clumsy, a poorly-assembled golem, and walked with the resigned terror of a man going to face the firing squad—sensations which struck him as _very wrong_ because it was really just singing, after all, and if he was expressing himself in this a little more directly than usual then so be it. He stood in front of the helpfully provided keyboard and appropriate microphone, spat out what he was pretty sure was an introduction, and just played. And sang. And hoped, staring at Blaine, trying to understand the expressions on his low-lit face.

_Sometimes I wish I had walked out when you first asked me  
><em>_To stay here and see  
><em>_Sometimes I wish I had parted our trembling hands  
><em>_And made other plans  
><em>_There are days when I look back at slow-motion staircases  
><em>_Old and unknown faces  
><em>_Serenades saved for the whole  
><em>_And I listen to myself,  
><em>_The romance on the shelf  
><em>_And realize that I'm growing old  
><em>_You've got me standing here, caught in your eyes  
><em>_Waiting and wishing for you to realize  
><em>_And I can't keep on holding  
><em>_For something unfolding  
><em>_Too slow  
><em>_Maybe I'm ready to go_

This song was about Blaine. That's it. That's all it was. Blaine. Nothing else.

_Hand held in hand is so easy and simple to do  
><em>_At least for you  
><em>_The thing in your hand we both know is a wish, not a rose  
><em>_But that's not what I chose  
><em>_Coffee-shop memories so simply childish now  
><em>_And I just don't know how  
><em>_The dancer keeps holding her pose  
><em>_Snowy duets  
><em>_On a bed of regrets  
><em>_Meant to warm us but missed and I froze_

His voice almost cracked, but he caught it, and just in time because here came the chorus again.

_You've got me standing here, caught in your eyes  
><em>_Waiting and wishing for you to realize  
><em>_And I can't keep on holding  
><em>_For something unfolding  
><em>_Too slow  
><em>_Maybe I'm ready to go_

He stopped looking at Blaine, stopped trying to figure out his expression, just stared at the empty space over the judges' heads and concentrated on keeping his voice as perfect as it would be for any other song, any song that wasn't tearing him up inside.

_I never claimed to know everything but I knew you  
><em>_Thought it was true  
><em>_I never said I could love you but did anyway  
><em>_Nothing left to say  
><em>_The distance between us is tiny but so very wide—  
><em>_I'm dying inside  
><em>_We've got to let go  
><em>_Trying to make it work  
><em>_Thought I could hide for sure  
><em>_But I am sure we both know  
><em>_You've got me standing here, caught in your eyes  
><em>_Waiting and wishing for you to realize  
><em>_And I can't keep on holding  
><em>_For something unfolding  
><em>_Too slow  
><em>_Maybe I'm ready to go  
><em>_Maybe I'm ready to go_

He played the last few notes, stood up, and bowed. He heard applause, not thunderous, about as much as Blaine's. He suspected it was more for his voice than his words, which had _not_ been as good as he'd hoped, but then there you are.

He managed to get back to his seat without stumbling or otherwise making a fool of himself. He couldn't look at Blaine—what had he been _thinking_? Slow-motion staircases and snowy duets and coffee-shop memories—oh God, what was _wrong _with him? Kurt was sure now he'd been either too direct and Blaine had been terribly embarrassed by the blatant love song too him, or he'd been too vague and Blaine would still not know anything about Kurt's crush and he'd congratulate him and offer constructive criticism with his big oblivious dapper smile, and either way Kurt would _die_. Die _horribly._

* * *

><p>Neither of them won; Kurt didn't pay much attention to the winner, though staring unseeingly at the blonde woman shaking hands with the judges was easier than chancing actually meeting Blaine's eyes.<p>

Avoiding Blaine was not as easy as Kurt had hoped; his walk over to his car was interrupted by Blaine walking up beside him and Kurt suddenly realized they'd come there together so there was no chance of avoiding him.

"Hi, Blaine," he said, smiling. Acting normal seemed like the best course of action. "You were really good. Shame you didn't win. You could probably become a songwriter, you know. _I_ would have bought that."

"What's wrong, Kurt?" Evidently "normal" was not quite working. "Are you upset because you didn't win? Your song was really quite good, you know, even if the tune was a bit—"

"It was terrible, Blaine, you don't have to lie," Kurt said with a wave of his hand. "It's not that, it's… something else."

"Is it—that was a very _emotional_ song, Kurt. Is something… bothering you?"

Kurt looked at Blaine, who was full of sympathy and concern and friendship and nothing more. He was suddenly very angry, at Blaine, at himself, at the whole stupid contest. He'd been an idiot to agree to this, an idiot to try to tell Blaine, an idiot all around.

"You know what, Blaine?" He dug in his bag and pulled out a piece of paper—the final draft of the lyrics. "Here's the words. Read them. Figure it out."

He regretted a million times over having ever agreed to carpool with Blaine. He'd never even _considered_ that they'd have to drive back after the contest. _Stupid, Kurt. Stupid, stupid, stupid. What is _wrong_ with you?_

Kurt drove stiffly, in silence, trying to ignore Blaine's careful studiousness in the seat next to him.

"Hmmm, I don't think this line really works, _snowy duets_ isn't quite enough syllables—"

"Oh, for _god's_ sake, Blaine. I'm perfectly aware that it's sentimental crap and rather poor poetry, the point is the _sentiment _expressed, not the complete failure of the artistic medium in which they are conveyed. Do I really have to _explain_ it to you?"

There was a pause in which Blaine displayed the kind of emotions usually only shown by a puppy that just destroyed your favorite slippers. "…Yes."

"Okay. Fine," Kurt said through gritted teeth, fully aware that he was throwing a fit for no particular reason, and that if he explained the lyrics now Blaine would know how he felt and would never ever talk to him again, but—

"The _parted hands_ and _slow-motion staircases_ thing is when we first met. Yes, you and I, Blaine, the two of us."

"So… you wish we hadn't met?"

"Sometimes, yeah—wait, don't get mad, just listen! Just. Listen. The serenades saved for the whole thing was—well, I'm just going to say it's about Jeremiah."

"Are you still annoyed about that? I know it was a dumb thing to do, but it's not like you ever had any particular desire to shop at GAP anyway."

Kurt repressed a shudder. "Oh, God forbid. Anyway, the chorus is… okay, you know what, to hell with it! The song is about the fact that I have a _massive _crush on you and you'll never notice, not ever, because I'm your best friend and a baby penguin and all of that. And I've been trying to get over it and stuff, but it hasn't been—it's not quite—and that's what I could write about. I thought it would help, but, well." Kurt petered out lamely, unsure

They sat quietly for a few moments, Kurt afraid to look at Blaine even though he was desperate to know why Blaine hadn't actually reacted yet.

At last, hushed, unhappy: "It's quite a good song, really."

And Kurt, not knowing what to take from this, decided it meant _no, I don't feel the same way_. He finally, a little of the uncertainty resolved, glanced over at Blaine, who offered a half-smile and a friendship.

Kurt gave a half-smile back and took it.


	2. Happy Version

**Version Two: In Which Things Don't Suck! And Are Sorta More Canon-y Maybe!**

**I just felt weird about how I ended it, like it was kind of a cop-out because _just because you're a super virgin doesn't mean all your writing must be devoid of happy endings and romance, Leah._**

**Enjoy! (Oh, and I disclaim Glee as still not mine, even though Kurt's song still is. I know, right? Ick.)**

* * *

><p>"You can't be serious, Blaine." Kurt simultaneously rolled his eyes, flipped his hair and drank coffee, causing no fewer than two attractive blazer-clad young men to stare in open astonishment at the range of emotions conveyed within the space of a fraction of a second. And while walking, no less.<p>

"Deadly serious, Kurt." Blaine grinned his "excitable-puppy" grin, which, while distinct from his "dapper!Blaine" grin, was practically indistinguishable from his "Kurt's my best friend and that's pretty excellent" grin, something that both elated and depressed Kurt in equal measure.

"If you think for a _second_ that I am entering this stupid songwriting contest, you are _out_ of your _frickin' mind_, Blaine."

"C'monnn, Kurt! It'll be fun, and you can show off your amazing singing skills to an auditorium full of people! Since when have you turned down a chance to perform! _And_ my Government teacher is one of the judges, so Dalton will give us the day off if we go and compete."

"It's not the singing bit, it's the writing bit. I mean, I can come up with a passable tune in a pinch, but writing? It's your thing, Blaine, you and that notebook you carry around like it's your child. I'm not a poet, not like you."

Blaine smirked. "You're just afraid you'll lose! You can't bear to admit that you might not be the best at something!"

"Um, Blaine? I just _did_ admit it."

"I mean, have judges actually _say_ you're bad. You're just scared!" he taunted.

Kurt sighed. "Okay, first of all, that is the most unsubtle plan ever. Make me get angry and try to prove you wrong? I'm not stupid, Blaine." Seeing Blaine's crestfallen look, he added, "Though I apparently am a sucker for punishment, because yes, I will participate in your songwriting contest."

"Yaay!" Blaine skipped over to Thad, who was walking in the other direction. "He says he'll do it!"

"Oh, is Hummel finally putting out?" he snarked. He glanced at Kurt apologetically. "Sorry, Kurt. Out of line."

Kurt waved his hand dismissively. "It's fine." A casual observer might have thought the apology was solely for the inappropriateness of the suggestion, but of course Thad knew about Kurt's _feelings_. As Kurt was becoming increasingly (and uncomfortably) aware, all the Warblers knew about Kurt's feelings, except, of course, for Blaine; so, for that matter, did that kid from AP Physics, the twins who were always in the library when Kurt was, and (if the seating arrangements were anything to go by) their French teacher—oh, and Jake from Brit Lit…

Actually, if Kurt was being realistic, about half of Dalton and all the female members of New Directions knew about Kurt's stupid, _stupid_ crush. On stupid, stupid Blaine Stupid Anderson. In fact, Kurt decided, that was going to preempt both Everett and Warbler as Blaine's middle name as far as Kurt was concerned…

Okay. Hold up. That little bit of crazy, Kurt could tell, was a warning sign that he needed to do something about this crush. Which brought him back, once more, to this songwriting contest. Because the only way to combat a stupid crush was by doing an equally stupid thing. An equally stupid thing here meaning writing a song to Blaine and performing it for him at this stupid songwriting contest.

Kurt resolved to end this crush one way or another, as it was seriously messing with his vocabulary and if he lost his witty repartee he'd just be a… a music box with excellent hair.

Wait, never mind, that even sounded stupid in his head.

Wait. No.

_Argh!_

Kurt was sitting at the last empty library table, the wobbly one with _nudibranchs are excellent_ carved into one leg. His mouth tasted like plastic with a hint of ink, his pen was leaking ink when he wrote, and there were crumpled paper scraps in his hair. But he was getting somewhere at last; finally, some of his feelings were turning into words that—

At this point his deliberations were interrupted by the devil himself, Blaine Stupid Anderson. (Really? He was only kidding about the middle name thing.)

"Hey, Kurt! Watcha writing?" Kurt scrambled to cover it up as Blaine calmly read what lines were visible beneath his fingers.

"_Trembling… rose… bed… romance… _ooh,_ serenades_. This is a love song! Who did you write a love song to?"

"No one, actually," Kurt muttered. _Which I suppose is true, since it's not technically a love song_.

"I don't believe you. You like someone! That's great, Kurt!" Blaine was once again in puppy-slash-best-friend mode. Joy of _everlasting_ joys.

"You'll hear the song at the contest, so stop looking!" Kurt finally gave up on hiding the lyrics with his hands and just shoved the whole thing in his bag, standing abruptly.

"I have to go, Blaine."

The requisite weeks had passed, the appropriate auditorium had been located and the necessary traveling had been done. Now Kurt was sitting in the front row with the rest of the competitors, waiting for his turn. Blaine was first, and excellent.

He played the guitar (another hidden depth, Kurt mused) and sang a really excellent song. He actually looked at Kurt during it, smiling—but only for part of the time, Kurt was sure. He didn't quite remember, as he'd had a hard time watching, though he drank in the sound.

_Say, wasn't that a funny day?_

_Gee, you had a funny way-a way about you._

_A kind of glow of something new._

_Sure-I'll admit that I'm the same._

_Another sucker for a game kids like to play,_

_And the rules they like to use._

_Don't you want the way I feel?_

_Don't you want the way I feel?_

_Don't you want the way I feel for you?_

He was followed by several people, including a really terrible rather androgynous boy with an awful haircut_("You should be pick me, so tell me can you dig it")_

and a woman with an absolutely astonishing voice and a rather nice hat:

_Necessary actions taken only so you'll land on your feet._

_And consequences with an action, overthrown in this distraction, please. _

_And even when the stars align there's always something caught in your teeth._

_This and that it's always something with you, I've run out of steam. _

_Leave, I'm ready to leave, I'm sorry but you see, you're making me bleed, I'm ready to leave. _

And then, when they were all beginning to blend together (except for Blaine, never Blaine), it was Kurt's turn.

So he got up out of his seat, clumsy, a poorly-assembled golem, and walked with the resigned terror of a man going to face the firing squad—sensations which struck him as _very wrong_ because it was really just singing, after all, and if he was expressing himself in this a little more directly than usual then so be it. He stood in front of the helpfully provided keyboard and appropriate microphone, spat out what he was pretty sure was an introduction, and just played. And sang. And hoped, staring at Blaine, trying to understand the expressions on his low-lit face.

_Sometimes I wish I had walked out when you first asked me_

_To stay here and see_

_Sometimes I wish I had parted our trembling hands_

_And made other plans_

_There are days when I look back at slow-motion staircases_

_Old and unknown faces_

_Serenades saved for the whole_

_And I listen to myself,_

_The romance on the shelf_

_And realize that I'm growing old_

_You've got me standing here, caught in your eyes_

_Waiting and wishing for you to realize_

_And I can't keep on holding_

_For something unfolding_

_Too slow_

_Maybe I'm ready to go_

This song was about Blaine. That's it. That's all it was. Blaine. Nothing else.

_Hand held in hand is so easy and simple to do_

_At least for you_

_The thing in your hand we both know is a wish, not a rose_

_But that's not what I chose_

_Coffee-shop memories so simply childish now_

_And I just don't know how_

_The dancer keeps holding her pose_

_Snowy duets_

_On a bed of regrets_

_Meant to warm us but missed and I froze_

His voice almost cracked, but he caught it, and just in time because here came the chorus again.

_You've got me standing here, caught in your eyes_

_Waiting and wishing for you to realize_

_And I can't keep on holding_

_For something unfolding_

_Too slow_

_Maybe I'm ready to go_

He stopped looking at Blaine, stopped trying to figure out his expression, just stared at the empty space over the judges' heads and concentrated on keeping his voice as perfect as it would be for any other song, any song that wasn't tearing him up inside.

_I never claimed to know everything but I knew you_

_Thought it was true_

_I never said I could love you but did anyway_

_Nothing left to say_

_The distance between us is tiny but so very wide—_

_I'm dying inside_

_We've got to let go_

_Trying to make it work_

_Thought I could hide for sure_

_But I am sure we both know_

_You've got me standing here, caught in your eyes_

_Waiting and wishing for you to realize_

_And I can't keep on holding_

_For something unfolding_

_Too slow_

_Maybe I'm ready to go_

_Maybe I'm ready to go_

He played the last few notes, stood up, and bowed. He heard applause, not thunderous, about as much as Blaine's. He suspected it was more for his voice than his words, which had _not_ been as good as he'd hoped, but then there you are.

He managed to get back to his seat without stumbling or otherwise making a fool of himself. He couldn't look at Blaine—what had he been _thinking_? Slow-motion staircases and snowy duets and coffee-shop memories—oh God, what was _wrong _with him? Kurt was sure now he'd been either too direct and Blaine had been terribly embarrassed by the blatant love song too him, or he'd been too vague and Blaine would still not know anything about Kurt's crush and he'd congratulate him and offer constructive criticism with his big oblivious dapper smile, and either way Kurt would _die_. Die _horribly._

Neither of them won; Kurt didn't pay much attention to the winner, though staring unseeingly at the blonde woman shaking hands with the judges was easier than chancing actually meeting Blaine's eyes.

Avoiding Blaine was not as easy as Kurt had hoped; his walk over to his car was interrupted by Blaine walking up beside him and Kurt suddenly realized they'd come there together to there was no chance of avoiding him.

"Hi, Blaine," he said, smiling. Acting normal seemed like the best course of action. "You were really good. Shame you didn't win. You could probably become a songwriter, you know. _I_ would have bought that."

"What's wrong, Kurt?" Evidently "normal" was not quite working. "Are you upset because you didn't win? Your song was really quite good, you know, even if the tune was a bit—"

"It was terrible, Blaine, you don't have to lie," Kurt said with a wave of his hand. "It's not that, it's… something else."

"Is it—that was a very _emotional_ song, Kurt. Is something… bothering you?"

Kurt looked at Blaine, who was full of sympathy and concern and friendship and nothing more. He was suddenly very angry, at Blaine, at himself, at the whole stupid contest. He'd been an idiot to agree to this, an idiot to try to tell Blaine, an idiot all around.

"You know what, Blaine?" He dug in his bag and pulled out a piece of paper—the final lyrics. "Here's the words. Read them. Figure it out."

He regretted a million times over having ever agreed to carpool with Blaine. He'd never even _considered_ that they'd have to drive back after the contest. _Stupid, Kurt. Stupid, stupid, stupid. What is _wrong_ with you?_

Kurt drove stiffly, in silence, trying to ignore Blaine's careful studiousness in the seat next to him.

"Hmmm, I don't think this line really works, _snowy duets_ isn't quite enough syllables—"

"Oh, for _god's_ sake, Blaine. I'm perfectly aware that it's sentimental crap and rather poor poetry, the point is the _sentiment _expressed, not the complete failure of the artistic medium in which they are conveyed. Do I really have to _explain_ it to you?"

There was a pause in which Blaine displayed the kind of emotions usually only shown by a puppy that just destroyed your favorite slippers. "…Yes."

"Okay. Fine," Kurt said through gritted teeth, fully aware that he was throwing a fit for no particular reason, and that if he explained the lyrics now Blaine would know how he felt and would never ever talk to him again, but—

"The _parted hands_ and _slow-motion staircases_ thing is when we first met. Yes, you and I, Blaine, the two of us."

"So… you wish we hadn't met?"

"Sometimes, yeah—wait, don't get mad, just listen! Just. Listen. The serenades saved for the whole thing was—well, I'm just going to say it's about Jeremiah."

"Are you still annoyed about that? I know it was a dumb thing to do, but it's not like you ever had any particular desire to shop at GAP anyway."

Kurt repressed a shudder. "Oh, God forbid. Anyway, the chorus is… okay, you know what, to hell with it! The song is about the fact that I have a _massive _crush on you and you'll never notice, not ever, because I'm your best friend and a baby penguin and all of that. And I've been trying to get over it and stuff, but it hasn't been—it's not quite—and that's what I could write about. I thought it would help, but, well." Kurt petered out lamely, unsure of what to say, what to do, how to keep going.

They sat quietly for a few moments, Kurt afraid to look at Blaine even though he was desperate to know why Blaine hadn't actually reacted yet.

"Oh. _Oh._" Kurt still couldn't look at Blaine.

"Pull over."

Kurt did, shaking a little.

Blaine reached out one hand, putting it on Kurt's shoulder, carefully, carefully.

"It's quite a good song, really. And I… I just… I don't really know what to say." Kurt looked at Blaine, and Blaine swallowed. "Can I kiss you? Because I really, really want to kiss you now."

And they did, and Blaine's lips on Kurt's lips were slightly warmer, chapped just enough to feel like they were really _there_ and Kurt was very, very aware of the hand still on his shoulder and the chip bag that had fallen to the floor of his car lo, so many moons ago and was crunching slightly under his foot, and most of all _Blainekisses are the best kind of everything_ and Blaine pulled back and smiled and opened his eyes and Kurt was caught in them, trapped forever and ever but that was okay because he had a funny feeling Blaine was just as caught up in Kurt because Kurt sure as hell felt like he was _glowing with something new_, and all of the flaws and the poorly-written songs and the GAP and Rachel and Animal didn't need to be important anymore, because Blaine was there, and he was fine.


End file.
